House's Heart
by AleTheHOUSEwife
Summary: COMPLETE!   Seems like Cuddy is hiding something from House. Something huge and life-altering. Set before H & C got together, some time after Mayfield and before Lucas.
1. Part 1  Secrets

Intro!

hi everybody :) We're pretty near episode 15 "Bombshells" and well, I got inspired and edited this story, which I had partially written some time ago and then acquired a whole new meaning to me as we are approaching said landmine in House and Cuddy's story. I'm not giving away anything else for the sake of the un-spoiled here. For all who know what I'm talking about, let's hope for the best! This story was originally called "Farewell", which was related to a quote I put in as a subtitle, but it was an Italian song which just couldn't fit here as nobody would have grabbed the meaning. So I changed the title and the quotes, and I actually find them less lame and more poignant and appropriate to the mood and the point of view the story is told from, which is mainly House's, and it's totally House's for the most important part of it: the end.

I'm not sure if I have to warn you or not, but guys, this isn't comedy. Nowhere near. This story addresses some deep issues and very dramatic material, which I'm particularly attached to as all you will read is something I went through in my personal life from beginning to end: I know you might find weird to put such a personal experience in a fanfiction, but everyone addresses things in a different way, so for me writing these stories is more than an artistic quest or just fanwork. I love writing so much I can't do it superficially. And writing about things you went through, feelings you got, it gives much more credibility to the story itself. By the way, you will smile, more often than you think. Even when it's unexpected. Because it's House, and House is a clever human being, caring as much as he seems not. And he really grabs the other side, the anticlimax underpinning most of life's most poignant moments. I think it was IC from him, did my very best. Well I think this is really enough said. Hope you're not already bored. And if you please, I'd appreciate a comment on my work as you finish reading. A story lives until there's someone reading and enjoying and emotionally investing in it. :)

alessandra

**HOUSE'S HEART**

by ale

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

"_People don't get what they deserve. They get what they get."G. House_

**Part 1**

_Everybody lies_

Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, May 10th

"Good morning, Sunshine. You're late."

House put on a dramatic expression, pointing his finger to Cuddy's cleavage and slightly bending over her, who, by the way, didn't step back.

"If that nasty, savage _décolletè_ could speak on your behalf..."

"House..."

"Come on girl, we all know that. It's been three weeks now."

She gazed at him, totally upset.

"House, leave me alone. I've got work to do."

"You're living it up, boss. Your lips say no, but the shadows under your eyes can't deny you're having a fling. Keep it up!"

House tried to give her a high-five, but she didn't fall for it. Instead, she tiredly glanced at him before walking away, headed to her office.

He watched her turning from him in her linnen blue dress. She seemed to be hovering over the floor in her black patent leather ballerinas, instead of actually _walking_ on it.

_Ballerinas_.

–

House burst into the cafeteria, slamming the door open with all the noise he could produce. When he had everyone in the room leaving their food to look at him, he splayed his arms, holding his cane high up above his head.

"Hey, Wilson!"

The poor guy at the round table tried to fade into the crowded room. Focusing on his bacon eggs, he prayed that people could forget whatever House was about to say very soon.

"So you two actually _made it_? Did she pay you? When is she due?"

_Great_. Wilson had a cautious look around. Now each and every person in the cafeteria was staring at him.

"House, that's enough."

House approached Wilson's table and plopped down on the empty chair in front of him. He drew

his friend's breakfast close and dipped a fork in it. The background chatter resumed.

"So" he said, having a mouthful of eggs. "She's been wearing ballerinas for a month now. _And_. I miss those luxury-escort heels of hers, actually. Every morning she comes in more tired and cranky than when she left, the night before. She's got black holes-like shadows under her eyes and every morning she pretends to leave for a coffee break. Instead, she comes to your office. And when you let her in, you _lock the door_. I know this. You shouldn't try to screw with me."

"House, it's not what you think."

"Then what is it? I'm not making it personal. The winner takes it all."

"It's... I gotta go. G'bye."

Wilson left, this time really fading out into the crowd as he was walking away.

House beeper went off. He had forgotten about clinic duty: no cases for a week, clinic every morning. Cuddy had him ripped off with a deal the day before.

–

"Good morning, mister... Gates. I thought Microsoft had your ass covered, insurance-wise. Or is it the working class appeal of a pro-bono clinic that brings you here?"

House hadn't even looked at the patient. He wore his gloves and took a stethoscope from the drawer, then turning back just to see a golden, curly haired toddler smiling at him from his mother's arms. He read through the file again. Then stared up at the kid. Again.

The mother approached House.

"William is slightly feverish, he's got a sore throat and a nasty, nasty cold. Don't you, sweetie?"

She bended over the baby, who bubbled something, attentively watching House as he was wearing the stethoscope.

"And you think this authorized you to write "Bill" instead of "William" in the file."

"We all call him Bill at home. I probably forgot to write his full name. My teeny-tiny-cutie-Billie-pie..."

House closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to find himself still at home, in his bed. He gave up. This was dangerously real.

The woman put the baby back in his stroller, than took something from her enormous bag.

"And there's this...problem...about the..."

She covered Bill's ears.

"...about the _poo_. This is not the usual brown!"

She tried to stuff a full, giant, stinky diaper into House's nose. He stepped back.

Five minutes later, House had managed to escape exam room 1, alongside the mother of a healthy baby named Bill Gates, affected by an innocuous cold.

It was going to be a long, long day.

–

Eight hours later, House took his helmet and leather jacket from the locker room. All day, he had prescribed painkillers, anticonvulsants, sonograms, tox screens and blood tests. He had ordered a new stock of epipens for exam room 3. He had managed to piss off two different teams of nurses in two different shifts. Now it was finally over. Without stumbling upon a single friendly face, he crossed the hallway and reached the parking garage for his bike. While driving home, Cuddy's exhausted look came to his mind once again. He hadn't forgotten about it all day long. What had happened that morning was baffling him. Wilson didn't seem to be lying or anything. And Cuddy knocked up by Jimmy was like the worst b-movie plot _ever_._  
Princeton Plainsboro meets "General Hospital".  
_If she wasn't pregnant and she wasn't clubbing all night either... He pushed away the possible alternative. Creating a world of lies where your loved ones hide fatal diseases from you didn't seem very wholesome to him. He finally got home and went to sleep.

–


	2. Part 1 The Summer

a/n: sorry to keep you from reading, I'm gonna set you guys free to go on in no time. Just a little timeline-wise clarification, as some of you pointed out that I didn't explain it. You're right guys! Sorry! I wrote the first draft of this in early s6, so H/Cu are not together and there's no Lucas either: H is just back from Mayfield and detoxed. The reference to ep. 7x15 was just **generally** related to the subject of the story (I'm being rather vague here not to spoil anyone). So here we are... You can now go on with the chapter, which is kind of short. This is gonna be a short story made of short chapters. Thanks for reading and for reviewing, I appreciate that. :)

alex

* * *

Cuddy's house, May 24th

Another daybreak spread its first rays of light over Princeton, suddenly lightning up the roofs and the streets and the gardens, which were now dipped in a warm atmosphere. The East Coast was welcoming another summer.  
Cuddy tossed and turned underneath the cotton sheets for the hundredth time. A sleepless night had already left its traces on her pale skin in form of deep shadows under her eyes. It was daybreak. Already. Again. Every morning, as soon as she awoke, the conscience of her personal countdown hit her as hard as it could. Some inexorable clock was ticking somewhere, she could almost feel the _thing_ pulsating inside her body, proliferating as an unstoppable plague, taking it all, seizing her flesh and soul. From time to time, she would found herself counting out the heartbeats, the breaths still to be flavored. She was only waiting to see the MRI results and confirm the diagnosis. She spent the next hour crouched on her knees in the toilet, bending over the bowl, flushing away the evidence of her illness without that erasing her scary reality. She didn't have any breakfast, hoping she could manage to keep her stomach calm for the entire morning, then she drove to the hospital. Trying to behave, she walked through the hallway and then into her office.

–

"Lisa."

"Hey Wilson. Busy day..."

Cuddy dropped her briefcase on the couch and went to her desk, where she started surfing through papers and documents, trying to look detached. Wilson didn't know where to start from. When it's a friend everything changes. You never know how to tell.

Their gazes met. She swallowed.

"Wow. That was _unexpected_. Wasn't it?"

Her cold, sarcastic tone took him by surprise.

"Lisa, I'm..."

"Yes. I'm sorry, too."

Her voice softened. Then, she approached him and sat beside him on the couch.

"We knew it already, it's no surprise really."

He looked at her, totally upset.

"I...Well... I just got the results and I... I thought I could have a look before, there are studies... But I had to tell you, you know... You're a strong woman, Lisa, and it's good, it's very good and I called U-Mass, they're gonna enlist you and they have the best experimental treatment for your kind of... thing... and, oh my god, it's... this is huge. And House almost found out and... oh my god. I guess I don't want you to die."

Wilson gave up and went silent again, trying to regain some kind of control. He was her doctor. He couldn't _lose it_.

Cuddy smiled. Despite it all, whiny Wilson was something cute. She loved him so much.

"Jimmy."

She placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to resist the impulse to let it all out and start throwing stuff against the walls, shouting at the unfairness of life. She squeezed a pillow to cover her shaking hands. Wilson stood back up and took his things, ready to go. He seemed to be back to his old self.

"Lisa, I am so very sorry. I don't even know what to say. The blood markers speak clear. And the MRI showed a spot in your left-frontal lobe. It's unmistakable and it explains all of your symptoms: the headaches are..."

"...they're caused by the increased intracranial pressure. I know. And so is the nausea. And the blackouts. Come on, let me see."

She gently took the file from her friend's hands. She turned even paler. Two, three months tops. Maybe four, if she'd made it through the treatment. A whole summer, not more than that. Her last _fucking_ summer.

Wilson put his arm around her shoulders.

"Hey. You are not giving up on this."

She jumped to her feet, fighting the upcoming fuzziness in her eyes.

"Let's go, we both have work to do."

The day flew by.

–


	3. Part 1 You don't want to know

–

Princeton Plainsboro, May 25th

House cautiously edged his way through the waiting room outside Cuddy's office. He had a quick glance at the empty inside and managed to sneak in unnoticed. If the manipulative little floozy had only known _how_ he was going to pay back for the clinic thing... He pulled a screwdriver from his left pocket and held it high and proud, incapable of wiping the grin off his face.

_She's gonna love this._

He stealthily closed the blinds and sat at the desk, decided to give the drawers their fair share of glory. She was going to be back in fifteen minutes. He started screwing with the pieces of Cuddy's desk, hoping she wouldn't be back from Wilson's office until he could sneak out and disappear. She wasn't going to come back sooner than any other day, though... House laid the screwdriver down on the desk, his stare fixed somewhere in front of him.

_Where else would she go, if not there?_

That was so obvious.

He found the file, an innocuous, anonymous blue plastic file underneath a pile of others, identical to it, obviously put there on purpose. To hide _that_ one. From _him_.

He read through it all. Twice.

Then he left the office as he had found it five minutes earlier, wearily limping his way out, his left hand clenched in a fist around the hilt of the now useless screwdriver. The case file laid underneath his companions, as if it was still untouched by the one person she wouldn't want to know she was dying.

So, that was her big secret. He didn't even ask to himself why she was determined not to reveal a thing to him: she had no expectations from him, except from mockery, sarcasm, indifference. He was not the hypocrite type, he wouldn't tell her all was going to be fine, because it wasn't. He felt hurt by his own freaking forthrightness, which discouraged anyone from connecting with him. It was not the silence of his best friend, the lies of the woman who was on earth to talk some sense into his life. It was his own attitude. _That_ hurt the most. He was a fucking _creep_. His thoughts went back at the days of her IVF shots, when he used to administer them to her inside that same office, after locking the door and closing the blinds. As she was now doing in Wilson's room, whenever she went there to have her numbered days checked one by one. Without him knowing. Years had passed over them, leaving lines across their faces and scratching the good memories of how they were from their tired souls.

House wished they would biopsy the tissue, just to see that the MRI'd had them all ripped off.

That same moment, Wilson stuck a needle into Cuddy's forearm and had her asleep to perform the exam, while the same thoughts were hovering in his mind.

–

Cuddy's office, May 30th

"Hey. How are you doing?"

"Same as always. Where's House?"

"In his office. He doesn't suspect a thing."

Wilson sat beside Cuddy on the gray couch in her office, which now was the place where bad news were delivered. He had suggested to meet her there, not to raise any suspicions about her daily visits. She lowered her stare, silent.

"Lisa, why are you doing this to him?"

"I don't know. I don't now how to tell him. I don't want him to think I'm afraid, I guess."

Wilson took her hand in his.

"Are you afraid?"

"No."

"_Dammit_. Why are you so freaking stubborn?"

He jumped to his feet and marched to the door, slammed it open and made the glass panel shake dangerously, then he was out. Cuddy stared at him walking away, then she took the new results he had brought to her. They didn't even had a chance to discuss them together. She read through the whole thing as in a weird dream, line by line, feeling a stream of the utmost fear invading her whole body as an icy-cold fluid. She had this strange feeling she was looking at herself from outside her own body, watching a woman she knew very well seated alone at her desk while reading a piece of paper. It seemed so innocuous a scene. Then, she was in her body again, and abruptly felt the pain and the terror bursting in from somewhere in her chest, like a burning hole forcing its way through her skin, somewhere between her breasts. It was everywhere. _Fear_. She didn't want to _fucking_ die her way through the damn summer.


	4. Part 1 Not going anywhere

–

It was early June. Kids would splash eggs on the concrete lawns to make them frizzle on the ground while running through irrigators, barefoot on the grass of their gardens. If you were a rich guy, that was the time to take your wife and children to Rhode Island, while Pleasantville was making everyone else happy for another year.

Every day, House had been following Cuddy's last shreds of life from a safety distance, feeling as if he was a fallen angel, thrown out of Paradise for the mere sin of being who he was. She was slowly slipping away without anyone noticing anything: every morning, she came in more tired and pale, almost rushing her way to the office without hesitation. Once a week, she just disappeared, always finding a new excuse. She went out from the main entrance and came in from the back door. That wasn't a mystery to him: he knew very well what Wilson's assistants were doing to her during those unsuspicious vanishings, while everyone in the hospital was rumoring about her sneaking out with some wealthy, tennis-addict CEO. She looked more or less the same person as always. House kept finding himself counting each and every fight they had managed to go through during the past weeks. She was keeping up with her act. On the other hand, he was the one sick of the lies and the vanishing. He thought he could deal with it, as long as she wasn't talking to him about _the thing_. But he also thought she would give up sooner. And she hadn't.

House started to think he would blow it all up any minute, telling her to finally cut the damn crap and start screaming out loud at the absurdity of the fucking sunshine and the even-more-fucking most delightful summer New Jersey'd had in years.

–

Wilson came in with a huge smile.

"Hello. I brought you chocolate! You happy?"

Cuddy couldn't help but smile at him. The poor cutie. He placed the present on her desk. It was wrapped. In _giftwrap_.

"We could use it to bake a cake and have a huge tea party for two. Your place. I don't have teacups."

She took the package and put it in her briefcase.

"Wilson, I've never even _opened_ my oven. I'm not going to waste my time in a cooking class. But. I _love_ chocolate. Thanks."

She placed a kiss on his cheek. He blushed a little, more surprised than anything. Then, he gently rubbed her head. He found a bright dark, twisty lock laying on his palm. Their smiles just vanished.

"Lisa. Maybe you should... Stop it. You can't hide from everyone. They all love you. If they found out that you don't want them around, it'd be just a shame. If you just came closer to any of the nurses, they would see it as it is. You're sick. And they'd think you don't want anyone beside you."

Wilson sat at her desk, hands folded upon it. She placed hers on his and spoke quietly.

"James. I... I have been thinking, too."

He gave her a glance. Her large, blue/green eyes, the exhausted expression on her sleep deprived face. The thin, pale forearms that couldn't hide the bruises from the needles anymore. She seemed to him as some kind of delicate crystal to be handled with the most care possible. The white linnen dress was protecting her from the hot, wet summer air: still, she seemed to be sweating all the fluids out of her drained body. She was a beautiful woman: the fitted dress unveiled the secrets of a still flowering blossom, which was trying to slip its way out of the exhaustion of an ill-fated life, crushed by that unfair chemistry. Wilson seemed to realize what she was going to say.

"I want to stop the treatment."

He was right. She wanted out.

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"You could get some more weeks. A couple months maybe."

"And then what?"

He didn't reply. When you're dying, that's all. It doesn't really matter if you leave a body full of radiations and poisonous meds, instead of the proof of your pristine pureness.

"Is this really what you want?"

"Of course not. I'd really use another chance at life. But I guess what I want doesn't matter anymore, since it's not what I got."

"Ok, then."

His eyes filled with tears. He tried to hide them jumping to his feet and turning from her. She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey. It's ok. I'm gonna need my doc to pull the plug, so don't lose it until I die. Deal?"

Wilson turned back and whispered a soft "Deal.", then slowly went out.

Cuddy was now alone. That was not what she wanted. It was what she had gotten. She thought she'd also use a little House-ness in all that. She would tell him she was scared the hell out. She was missing him being at her side, telling her she was being an idiot letting Wilson cry his eyes out in front of his boss. She would like to have him, but she had chosen not to. And she would have died without him. Now, _that_ was unfair. She plopped down on the couch.

Then, she started crying for the first time ever since she had found out about it all. She began with soft, round raindrops gently spilling on her dress. Then, as the tide takes it all, inexorable tears came streaming down her face, making her eyes fuzzy and her conscience fully immersed in the utterly painful moment she was living, heavily panting as the tears dropped on the sheets, the keyboard, her hands which were scratching the cover of her own case file. Her eyes burned as straw stacks set on fire, as she let it all out noisily, desperately, totally seized by the realization of the most irreparable mistake of her whole life. She was _fucking_ dying. Without House.

When she ran out of tears and invectives against God, summertime, House and herself, Cuddy tied her head back against the wall. As she hit something soft, she realized she wasn't alone. House, who was seated beside her, put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close, his gaze fixed towards, holding her tight with all the strength he could. She couldn't believe it.

"You knew. You've known all this time."

"You underestimated me."

"You didn't even knock."

"You'd have lied to me. You'd have said the mysterious date had dumped you to jump a Brazilian chick half your age."

"Thank god there's no mysterious date."

"It's an interesting perspective, from your actual point of view. You hopeless spinster."

"You're a jackass."

"You're a _dying_ hopeless spinster."

"Go to hell."

Cuddy came closer to him and nestled her way into his chest, listening to House's heartbeat as she laid her head on it. They both went silent for a few moments.

"House."

"What?"

"Don't go."

"I knock off at five. But we can discuss it."

"Shut _the hell_ up, for god's sake."

House put his other arm around her and bended over her, flavoring her perfume, the smell of her skin, the softness of her dark curls. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, while he thanked whatever non-existing god above that he would't have seen her beautiful locks falling to the ground one by one.

"Hey, Sunshine."

Cuddy stared up at him, slightly turning back. She'd never seen him so serious.

"I'm not going anywhere."

–

–

–

**End of Part 1**


	5. Part 2 Being human

**a/n: **

**From here, House's stream of consciousness takes over the whole plot, which also motivates the title of this story. May your reading be pleasant and your reviews be countless. :P

* * *

**

**Part 2**

_What one gets

* * *

_

June 7th

One week later

So, you were in there, crying your eyes out. I saw you through the glass. Wilson didn't even get angry at me when I told him I knew. He was wearing that gray sweater of his, the McGill one. The one he wears when he's sad and stops taking showers for days. I told him he was a stinky idiot, to get his ass into the shower and then burn the damn thing at last. He managed to send me to hell, then told me to get _my_ ass in your office and do something. "Anything!" he said. So, Cuddy, if you regret having me around, go tell Wilson. Never trust the guy with a thing.

I came in and you didn't even notice. Then you did and we had our best conversation in years: lots of insults, then I told you I was not going anywhere. So, Cuddy, here's the thing. I stayed. I guess I just squeezed you in my arms: sorry about that, I'm not very used to hug people. You made it through my failed attempt at being human and I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to tell you: all I wanted to do was running away from the pain. Not the one in my leg.

Everybody dies, Cuddy. I'd already had my lonesome whiskey nights at home, playing some jazz tune to the absence of you. Nothing seemed to erase the thought of _your_ lonesome nights from my mind. I just had to wait for you to be ready to accept me. Sorry if I sneaked in your office without knocking at the door.

I took you home and I kept trying and be human. Can't tell if I succeeded, I hope so. I made you tea and you just stared at me in disbelief: I thought you were surprised about me not being an ass. Then I realized you had remembered about the cup I used. It was the same as that other time. When we were naive, wishful med kids and you had this hell of an exam, which had left you feverish. I had this cup in my room and I thought to bring you some hot tea and maybe get to have some very good hectic sex with you. You told me to wait outside: you were in the shower. As I was standing in the corridor, my roomie came and he was all upset. I left the cup on the floor outside your door and went to my room. Where the Dean was waiting for me. I had been expelled, Cuddy. That is why I never came back to get my cup and my fair share of sex. I guess you made it personal.

Next time I saw you, we were both adults. Doctors. Well, I was the patient, actually: I didn't want you to amputate my leg, so you had this crazy idea of a dangerous surgery, but I forced you to make me snooze my way into an impossible recovery. Then Stacy forced you to cut me open on your table ad rip out a chunk of my muscle, and you listened to her because I was out, as requested. I bet you think you made me a miserable cripple. It was not your fault, Cuddy: others screwed it all up _before_. I screwed it all up _after_. And then you hired me, because I had this brand new cane and couldn't get to take a step without it and I was so cranky I had lost all I had before. You gave me the department to run and I got some kind of life back. I got to see you everyday of my life for years and that was best than Monstertruck night. Or Wilson-and-poker night. Or pissing nurses off.

You were sipping your tea, so I surfed through your vinyls. You've got very bad taste. Sorry. I can't be mean to you anymore. Or can I? When I told you your taste in music sucked, you just yelled "I know!" from the next room. So I guess I can keep being an ass. Partly. I discovered some Cohen stuff and I thought you could have a chance to get to Paradise, maybe. I put it on and I went to the kitchen to find something to drink for myself. When I came back to your room, you were asleep. So I just took off my shoes and laid myself beside you in your bed. I didn't sneak under the sheets, don't worry about your bed being a dirty mess or me thinking to jump you. I just stayed over for the night. And the night after. And the one after that. Then I went home, took some nightwear and came back. That night I finally used the sheets.


	6. Part 2 The rain

August 15th

Wilson says it's time. Almost. The poor guy is a wreck. Last weekend he came over and we stayed together for the whole time. We had planned to take you outside, have lunch in your garden so you could enjoy the sun. The plan obviously failed: it was raining so hard we couldn't even open up a single window, so we shut ourselves away in your living room and started telling stories. About failed relationships... Yes, we even laughed at how screwed we are on that matter: Wilson takes it all, his never ending search for the perfect marriage is just _not_ going to end. Ever. And your J-Date guy. Cuddy, you never thanked me for the favor I did to you by ruining your date. You should have, the man was so boring. You just couldn't be with a normal person. That's not you.  
Wilson had this crazy idea to put together some kind of pseudo-tex-mex dinner all by himself, and it was so horrible we burst out laughing at the first mouthful. We arranged to do it all in your bedroom, so that we wouldn't have to move you to the dining room. You get tired a lot these days. I guess we spilled some beer on the sheets. We apologize. Wilson's freaking dinner was an epic fail and I ended up sorting out the mess by myself.

–

September 1st

Today it's raining, Cuddy. Again. These summer storms just drain the sky upon innocent people: in a flicker, you find yourself soaked. Tons of water all over. And you just stand still underneath the rain that hits you and it makes you feel alive. Or just _be_. I came back from the hospital at six. Wilson dropped me at your place: I had to leave the bike home because of the weather. I have the keys, so you don't have to get up answer the door. You were asleep, so I took my guitar and went to the living room. It didn't take you long to show up at the threshold in your night gown, hair pulled up. I thought I could tell you how beautiful you were, but then I felt lame and just didn't say anything. I was playing and you were standing there, in the doorway. We'd been staring at each other for ages, when I laid down the guitar. I wished I could just jump on my feet and come pick you up, so you would't have to walk to the couch. I'm sorry, Cuddy. I guess you didn't mind you had chosen a jinxed cripple, because you had this incredible smile depicted on your face as you were slowly approaching, and it was so bright it relieved my pain. You sat down and nestled beside me, laid your head on my shoulder without saying a word. We don't talk much, I guess.

Then we made love, conveying in it all the exhausted passion that is burning our bodies during these quietly desperate days. I tried to come to you as delicately as I could, as you put your arms around my neck, slowly kissing my pulsating skin. I felt your sickness in me as I was flavoring the intensity of being inside you. I tried to rip that _thing_ out of you as we were one thing, averaging the weight of our souls. Cuddy, I swear to god I wished I'd manage to make you forget your death sentence even just for a moment. That was our moment. Nothing else in the world deserved our devotion as love did.

The morning after, I took you to the hospital.

* * *

a/n: next chapter will be the last one. As always, you might want to waste five minutes and leave me a review, as I spend hours writing for you. I appreciate that. :)


	7. Part 2 Baby steps

–

September 8th

Cuddy, I'm here with you. And yes, this sounds lame coming out of my mouth: I don't care, I had to tell you. I don't even know if you can still hear me. I don't know where you are now, because the woman lying here in front of me can't be you. It just can't, Cuddy. You lie there all day long with your eyes staring into space and I can't bear it, I know I won't be taking it much longer. You lie and stare. And some machine pumps air in and out of you as I adjust your morphine and inject you with words you're probably not hearing.

Wilson is a great doctor. We all knew that before, but I couldn't see how cut out for this job he really is: he's devastated and keeps hanging around with the damn Mc. Gill sweater he's not gotten rid of yet – I swear to god I'm gonna throw it in the fireplace for him soon –, but he's genuinely supportive. He comes in every morning with his shiny white coat and his pen and his daily dose of humanity, and I used to mock him for that, but I see it now: when he holds your hand as he checks on you, I see all the strength it takes to do his job. When he hangs the coat at night he comes back and we stay with you. Last night I asked him if he knows where you are. You know, being Jewish and all... He just told me he doesn't know. Nobody knows, Cuddy. Someone believes, though, and I hope you just took off believing, regardless of the outcome. I hope that for you. Because what scares the life out of _me_ is that I just can't believe. I only know you're here, lying unconscious in front of me, and I am the doctor who can't do anything for his patient. I couldn't save you and for that I'm sorry. Wilson keeps saying it's no one's fault: I hope so, otherwise it would mean his God made a huge mistake. But hey, we don't always go all science versus faith. Most of the time we just sit here as time goes by and we even get silly from time to time. Mostly because Wilson is stupid and naive and Cuddy, he has a cat now. Named Sarah: an old, psychotic fluffball with _diabetes_. Can you imagine? The guy is such a wimp.

–

September 10th

I'm terrified, Cuddly. Madly. I guess I'd be the one who pulls the plug eventually, as you asked. This is ripping my heart out. Which is two sizes smaller, as you know. I guess that's why you asked me? Okey, I admit it. I hate doing this to you. I'm just doing it because you wanted me. Heart's grown unexpectedly.

–

September 15th

It's over. You slipped away this morning, at daybreak. I was with you every step of the way. I did everything I had to, checked the EKG, blood pressure, EEG. I removed all the drips and then I did it. It took me a second, I hope you didn't feel anything. Your heart just rested on a natural D, which is my favorite note, by the way. Then you were gone and I had to call it, because when you're a doctor you can't even dash out and curl up in tears somewhere in the locker room. This sucks. Wilson was there with us, he didn't shed a single tear. For now. And I am not drinking my way into mourning you. I promise. Baby steps, Cuddy, baby steps.

* * *

- The End -


End file.
